


Fur-ever Homes

by SensationalSunburst



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Drabbles, Fluff, King's Origin Story, M/M, Sir Fatcat's Origin Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-03-06 03:17:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18842527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SensationalSunburst/pseuds/SensationalSunburst
Summary: Neil blinked the sleep out of his eyes and let his mind come to terms with the fact that Andrew had just tossed a kitten onto his chest.





	1. King

Andrew didn’t get  _ worried _ . 

Except of course, where one careless, reckless idiot was involved. 

That was not to say he was  _ worried  _ about Neil and what he was going to do the following year when he was the last one standing of the old guard- when he was alone again for the first time in years when Andrew and Aaron graduated and left. 

Instead, he was  _ aware _ of the potential flashpoints that made up Neil’s healing mind.  _ Aware,  _ not worried, about the potential of Neil going off the rails, or getting lonely, or running, or generally doing something stupid as he was one to do. 

“Alright,” Bee took a sip of tea and settled a little deeper into her chair, “Is there anything you think that would make the transition easier?” 

Andrew shrugged a shoulder, “He’s well aware how a phone works and a professional athlete’s budget has plenty of room for ticket.”

“Those are certainly good options.” Bee said. Andrew shrugged again and let his eyes drift across the room, smoothing over the near, uniform collection of succulents lined on the windowsill, to the book shelf and its collection of glass figurines. Dustless and sparkling, they caught the mid-morning light and cast rainbows across Bee’s knees. His eyes however, lingered on her newest cat figurine, cast in mid-stretch. His mind helpfully brought forward the image of Neil, flushed and smiling as he stopped mid-run to pet a cat that had thrown itself to the ground in front of him as he made his way back to the tower. 

It proceeded to que up Neil’s habit of tossing sandwich scraps to the ground in front of the dumpsters at court for the cats who scavenge there and the way he genuinely smiled at Renee’s photos of her mother’s cat, Herbert. 

“Andrew?” Bee said. When he drew his eyes up, she smiled, winkles deep around her eyes.

“He likes cats.” 

“Pets certainly have been proven to improve mood and decrease feelings of loneliness. I also believe that it’s simply good to take care of something. They can give a sense of purpose to those who feel purposeless. However,” She said mildly, “Pets aren’t allowed in the dorms.” 

Andrew blinked at her and waited, watching as she tap tap tapped her pen against her notebook. 

“So, I cannot  _ officially  _ recommend such a thing.” 

“Of course.” Andrew said and let the corner of his mouth turn up into a smirk. 

 

A week later as a late fall storm tore through campus, ripping weakened branches from the pines and flooding the swatches of campus, Andrew was making his way back to the tower, walking steadily through the onslaught when he heard a low, pitiful squeak. He paused and waited and turned towards the noise when it went up again. 

Then he spotted it. 

Stranded by a puddle that may as well have been a lake, there was a shivering, shaggy grey kitten. It was huddled under a bench to his right, curled up next to the leg of the bench in the only remaining dry spot that was quickly being overtaken by muddy water. 

The idea formed, settled and was decided upon before his hand even closed around the scruff of the kitten’s neck, pulling it up to eye level. It didn’t fight, but its yowling grew louder. One eye was crusted shut, and its left ear was mostly missing in what looked like the badly healed result of a fight. 

He scoffed and then carefully eased it into the overstretched pocket of the soaked hoodie he'd stolen from Neil. 

 

“Oh, Andrew! You’re soaked!” Dorothy, the receptionist of the Palmetto University Animal Hospital, stood as he entered and began rummaging through a basket hidden under the counter for a towel. When she popped back up, she gasped as the damp, trembling ball of grey fur that he’d deposited on the counter. It huddled under his open palm, clearly seeking warmth. 

“Oh no! Where did you find this little guy?” She reached out and he immediately withdrew his hand, letting her scoop the kitten to her chest. 

“Under a bench.” 

“Poor thing, ugh, and what an infection. Thanks for bringing her in, we’ll get her all fixed up and find her a good home.” 

Andrew hummed his dissent, “Bill me and let me know when I can pick it up.” 

"Ah," Dorothy crooned, "I see. Well then, I'll let you know know. Go get dry before you catch a cold!" 

 

A week later, when Neil was begrudgingly buried under a pile of blankets, too hot and too cold in turn from his own exploits in the near nonstop storms, Andrew got a text, huffed impatiently and heaved himself from the couch. 

Neil closed his eyes as Andrew ran his through his sweat soaked hair. 

“Don’t move.”    
“Wouldn’t if I could.” Neil groaned, flopping over into the void left by Andrew on the couch. 

Neil closed his eye as the dorm door closed and blinked them open what felt like a few seconds later when something was dropped onto his chest. Instinct made him reach for it, but his hands froze when his fingertips sank into something soft, fluffy and  _ breathing _ . 

Neil blinked the sleep out of his eyes and let his mind come to terms with the fact that Andrew had just tossed a  _ kitten  _ onto his chest. A fluffy, grey, one eyed kitten with half an ear and a scar on its face that made it look like a Bond villain’s pet. Except, when he flexed his fingers, a jet engine like purr started up, shaking the kitten’s entire body as it made its way up his chest to tuck itself under his chin. 

"You're cleaning the box." Andrew said. 

He lifted Neil's legs up to sit on the couch, settling them in his lap and flopping the blanket back over his feet. 

"-what?" 

"It shits in a box."

"I understand that.” Neil said, careful to avoid jostling the kitten under his chin. “Wh-” 

“ _ That _ is yours.” Andrew interrupted, “I expect to see it alive when I come visit.” 

Under his hands, Andrew felt Neil go lax. He rolled his eyes from the task at hand, massaging out Neil’s chronically tight hamstrings, to find Neil’s eyes wide with shock, a pleased smile pulling his fever flushed cheeks up, up, up.  

“Thank you.” He whispered, then froze as the kitten flipped over, nuzzling against the underside of his chin. 

“A hundred forty two percent, you fuckin’ sap.” 


	2. Sir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrew found King, but Sir found Andrew.

“-broken his fuckin’ ankle,” Neil snarled, voice small and tinny over the speaker of Andrew’s phone. Andrew could hear him moving around his kitchen, likely pouring himself a bowl of the sugary sweet cereal that Andrew had sent him before Kevin’s last visit. “-goes for the goalie? You don’t make fucking trading decisions, he should have gone for Johnson if he was that pissed about her being traded because she fucking  _ asked _ -” 

Andrew tossed his keys onto the kitchen counter and kicked his door closed behind him, waiting until he heard the whine of the automatic lock to flick on the lights. 

There was a cat sitting in his kitchen sink. 

A small, golden colored thing, sitting regal and still, it’s tail wrapped around the handle of his Fox’s coffee mug. 

“Neil.” Andrew said. On to the other side of the connection, Andrew heard his mouth snap shut, teeth clicking together. 

"Andrew." A demand for an explanation, fear hitting the consonant short and harsh. 

"Calm down." Andrew said, "There is a cat in my fucking sink." 

"What?"

Andrew approached slowly and saw the buckled corner of the window screen where it must have squeeze through from the balcony. How it got up to his 7th story balcony was another question entirely. 

Andrew quickly swept the rest of his small apartment, but found no signs of forced entry besides the bent window screen. Too small, he knew, for a person to squeeze through. 

The cat stared up at him with wide blue eyes, its tail swishing idly back and forth along the sink. 

“Scram.” 

The cat blinked, then stood, stretching enough to knock over the mug before it squeeze through the screen and out into the night.

 

Next, when Andrew was once again playing with his pulse, experimenting with putting one foot, then one leg, then two feet out onto his fire escape, the cat leapt cleanly from his neighbor’s escape to his own, chirping as it settled at the far corner of the rust red metal to stare him down. It blinked slowly, stretching tiny paws forward before curling into a loaf to soak up the early morning sun. Without thinking, he pulled out his phone and sent a photo to his junkie. 

The reply was almost immediate. 

_ When did you get a cat? What is her(his?) name?  _

**It's the cat from the other night.**

_ Congratulations, you have a cat now.  _

_ Ignore me all you want. Look into your heart, you know it to be true.  _

**We never should have shown you Star Wars.**

Andrew felt his lips twitch despite himself and set the phone down, flicking the stick of the lollipop he'd been eating (as an inferior substitute for cigarettes) over the railing and down to the street below. 

The cat’s eyes followed it down before it stood, stretched again, and sauntered forward to rub its entire body against his knee, leaving behind a clump of gold fur on his black jeans. It chirped again and he found his traitorous hand already reaching out before it could connect again, running down the length of its bony spine. The purr that started up shook the cat’s entire body and reverberated through his knee as stepped onto his leg and over his lap to push its head into his chest. 

It felt, somehow, absurdly, similar to the feeling that wormed its way deep into his stomach Neil reached out for him in his sleep. 

Without warning, the cat began to climb his chest, using tiny claws to dig through his old letterman jacket until it was settled - somewhat steadily - on his shoulders so it could mash its face into his cheek. It stayed on his shoulder as he stood, as he opened the door and stepped inside, through him making a cup of coffee and until he settled on the sofa, at which point it jumped off, curled into a ball on his lap and went to sleep. 

Andrew swallowed a sigh and ordered cat food. 


End file.
